Foolish Games Page 2

  I quickly took in his dark, disheveled hair, unshaven face, and pursed lips while he took a sip of his coffee. Yet what I noticed most were those penetrating blue eyes that had not moved off of me. Me, as in the only person that was seemingly unimpressed by his mere presence. The only one who was dressed in a white wife-beater, rolled up pink sweats, and a pony tail that was tilted off my head. Good times. I sighed as I curled my lip and fixed him with the most vicious glare in my arsenal of deadly looks. He seemed only amused by my behavior as he suppressed a smile, not insulted like I had hoped for. Note to self: must work on my deadly looks.

  Realizing that Riley had stopped talking, I looked over at him. Riley seemed to have noticed the nonverbal exchange between the two of us before I slammed the hutch shut and looked away. I busied myself with wiping the oil off my hands with an old rag.

  “Why is J.T. Hawkins looking at you like you’re the morning special?” Riley gawked.

  “I don’t know.” I sighed as I continued to look away from the bus. “Last time I checked, he only preferred blondes.”

  “Really!?” Riley ran a hand threw his sun kissed hair absentmindedly. “Oh, my god! I have to get his autograph!” He frantically grabbed up a black sharpie from the dashboard and the MapQuest sheets from my seat.

  “Wait, not the directions!” I yelled after him as he ran like a freaking girl over to the crowd.

  Crossing my arms, I glared over at the McDonald’s across the street, ignoring the end of the world worthy pandemonium that was right there in front of me. I waited for the sleek tour bus to leave, noticing that a few fans were actually running behind it. Seriously, it was their own stupidity if they got hit. I saw Riley break from the crowd to run over to me. Waving the once perfectly clear, crisp MapQuest sheets over his head manically, he announced, “I got J.T. Hawkins’ signature!”

  I grabbed the sheets and looked them over. “Wonderful,” I sighed. “Now I can’t see what exit to take.”

  “What is wrong with you?!” He grabbed the sheets back from me while jumping up and down. “He chose me!”

  “What do you mean he chose you, you dancing nancy?”

  “Wel,l I walked over there,” he announced dreamily.

  “You walked?” I questioned.

  “Whatever, stop interrupting or you won’t be invited to the wedding. Anyway as I was saying, I quickly walked over.”

  “Ah, huh.” I humored him while he replayed the details of the story to his liking since I could still remember his shoes kicking his ass because he was running so fast.

  “And he reached out for my paper while completely ignoring the other fans in front of me.” He grinned from ear to ear. “He chose me!”

  “Oh, I got it now.” I nodded. “You’re just so smoking—”

  “HOT,” Riley chimed in as we both laughed.

  “Well, lookie here.” Riley let out a low whistle and I glanced over to see Lizzie strut her stuff across the parking lot. She made Gisele Bündchen look like an inexperienced debutant in comparison.

  “Well, hello, y’all little people.” She flashed her dazzling smile before she slinked past me into the open door of the van and laid down on the cot.

  “Oh, god, I’m so tired. Wake me up when we get there,” she moaned.

  “Oh, I know,” Riley nodded as he shut the van door, “being a ho is such hard work.”

  “That’s right, Riley, I’m so good at what I do,” Lizzie gloated. “I should get paid for it.”

  “I wish you would then you could stop mooching off of us,” I joked as I got in the driver’s seat and closed the door.

  I looked over the directions covered in dark sharpie while shaking my head. I waited for Riley, my co-pilot on this derailed train wreck, to fasten his seat belt beside me. He grabbed the directions from my hands to cradle them again. I shifted the van into gear and pulled out of the parking lot.

  “I’m so glad we’re finally leaving,” I muttered under my breath.

  “You’re just upset.” Lizzie giggled. “Rules, hee hee.”

  “Why don’t you just do what you do best, Lizzie,” I sighed, “and lay back down.”

  “What’s this?” Riley asked.

  Oh no, could we please not go over the nightmarish elevator ride again.

  “J.T. Hawkins is pretty full of himself, isn’t he?” Lizzie winked at me through the rearview mirror.

  Rolling my eyes, I exclaimed, “Thanks for throwing me under the bus last night!”

  “Geez, I was just kidding. When are you going to live a little?”

  “What’s this about Hawkins?” Riley asked.

  “Oh, right.” Lizzie smiled. “It’s a match made in heaven.” She waved her hand across the sky from below. “They both seem to share the same lovely outlook on life.”

  “I’d say thank you, if you were anyone else,” I added.

  “Think they both know it all—”

  “Just the stuff that matters.” I sighed.

  “And here’s the real clincher,” Lizzie whispered to Riley, but still loud enough for me to hear. “They’re both not getting any.”

  “J.T. Hawkins isn’t getting laid?” Riley asked in horror.

  “Well, not last night from what I could tell. Even though Joie was with me in the elevator…” Lizzie drifted off.

  “He turned you down?” Riley gasped.

  “Oh, god,” I groaned while looking out at the highway. “How many more miles?”

  “He turned her down?” Riley turned in his seat to ask Lizzie.

  “Are we there yet?” I continued to have a conversation with myself.

  “Shit, you don’t think he’s batting for Riley’s team, do you?” Lizzie contemplated.

  “Do you?!” Riley turned to ask me enthusiastically.

  “I don’t know? Why are you asking me? I’m clearly not good enough for him, though it’s not like I asked or anything.” Pushing the focus off me for once, I added, “And besides, whatever happened to Ryan?”

  “Oh, he’s still on the tour,” Lizzie said lightly.

  “Yeah, that was the point.” Riley laughed.

  “I’m moving up to the big leagues, guys.” She examined her nails with not a care in the world. “Oh, listen.” Lizzie crawled forward to turn up the radio dial. “It’s them on the radio!”

  Soon the van was filled with music by The Grimm Brothers as Riley serenaded the two of us far beyond the city limits. We followed the song up with their debuting album that catapulted the band into the lime light a few years ago. Lizzie danced in the back as Riley pecked away on his laptop writing what was supposed to be last night’s concert review for the Grimm Brother’s official website (the only legitimate reason any of us had for following the band around) but out of the corner of my eye it looked like he was just surfing the web.

  I gazed out at the Appalachian Mountains which jetted up on either side of the faded gray highway. Though I was on autopilot most of the time, the drive was a bit trickier than I would have liked. But by now I had become used to the cars that were steadily passing us by as we went up each hill because the van only went one speed: slow. It wasn’t long before Riley looked up from his computer and sighed heavily.

  “I know,” I groaned. “This van doesn’t like steep inclines whether they’re up or down.”

  “What? I didn’t notice, I was trying to type this review.”

  “Oh, right, note to self,” I said sarcastically. “Next time we’re about to die I’ll just yell, hey guys, hear that noise? That’s the brakes screeching and thinking about giving up!”

  “Sorry, Joie, I’m just freaking out because I can’t remember that much of the show. Do either of you remember anything past the first three songs?” He glanced back and forth between us.

  “Sure can’t.” Lizzie smirked.

  Turning to look at him, I asked, “What do you need?”

  “Oh, just a review of the show,” he replied brightly. “All I can remember is the lighting.”

  “What we
re you smoking?” Lizzie snickered.

  “Nothing,” he emphasized. “It’s only because Rob Harlow is a master at what he does on the lighting crew.”

  “Rob who?” Lizzie asked.

  “Harlow… hello?” Riley fixed her with a look. “Anyways, I’ve already been told once to keep my lighting reviews to a minimum.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m thoroughly embarrassed to admit that the music felt like a blur in comparison.”

  “Ah, someone’s got a little crush,” Lizzie taunted.

  “Shut it,” Riley responded, but blushed.

  “Okay, here it goes,” I announced. “Hawkins strutted across the stage.”

  “He doesn’t strut,” Riley interrupted me.

  “Oh, yeah he does.” Lizzie spoke up. “He just oozes arrogance.”

  “Do you want a review or not?” I asked.

  “Okay, okay.” He caved.

  “Where was I?” I thought out loud, knowing that none of it was going to be useable, but definitely therapeutic for me. “Hawkins strutted across the stage,” I continued. “He devoured the cheers of the crowd like a drug as he slung his black Gibson over his shoulder. He cocked his head back once more at the audience and the rest of the band took their places. The tension was building in the crowd; it had started at his arrival on the stage and grew with their anticipation for the show to start. Hawkins nodded to, umm, what’s the drummer’s name again?” I turned to Riley.

  “Blakely!” they both shouted while seemingly captivated with my version of the night.

  “Right, Hawkins nodded to Blakely, but all that could be heard was the thunderous screams of the crowd. It was only when Hawkins attacked that first chord, with a strike so loud and hard, that the lights came up. I felt a jolt in my bones as the music erupted around us.”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Riley interrupted. “Jolt in my bones?!” He snickered. “You seriously want me to write that?”

  “Yeah, why? You know like jumping into cool, crisp water on a hot, steamy day.”

  “All righty then.” He was snickering as he typed. “I felt a jolt in my bones.”

  I continued, “The music was flawless, every note was hit with exact precision. It was the work of a well-oiled machine; one could hardly believe that they were just men. And neither can they,” I added dryly.

  “Ha! You’re just sore because he dissed you.” Lizzie laughed.

  “Anyway, as the night continued, Hawkins was like the captain of a ship that was rocking back and forth on a stormy sea. The crowd was like a wave of swaying bodies and faces. He taunted the raging sea with a jump in the air, guitar flailing over his head, before landing in a crouched position.”

  And at the mention of this Riley busted out laughing.

  “What now?” I asked accusingly.

  “Girl, what were you smoking?”

  “Do you want a review or not?”

  “No, no, no…I want a review.” He smiled happily.

  “Anyway, Hawkins strutted across the stage,” I repeated.

  “Oh, not this again!” Riley laughed.

  “It’s what I remembered most,” I said in my defense. “You wanted my review, remember?”

  “Hawkins strutted across,” Riley quoted as he typed, “the stage.”

  “With guitar in hand,” I added. “Behind him, Blakely was pounding his drumsticks left and right. He was playing the drums like a prodigy, but reminding every boy in the crowd that this was a man’s job. It was coming to a close as Hawkins took one last hit of his drug of choice as his eyes swept across the crowd one last time. Then with the stroke of his hand on that last chord, the last slamming pain that Hawkins inflicted on his guitar, it was all over. The cry of the saxophone could still be heard echoing off the walls of the arena as the lights went down. I was thrown back into silent murmurs of the crowd around me. Blinking in my dazed state as the house lights went up, I thought this is the music that inspires people.”

  I looked out over the horizon though my real thoughts were back in the elevator last night. I shook my head and began again. “But when I found myself in the same elevator as Hawkins later that night, I realized he was nothing like the man he was on stage. On stage he was charismatic, but in person he was arrogant and smug. Without an audience watching him, he was reserved and seemingly bitter with his lot in life. A shadow of the person he was on stage. Still, and I say this as objectively as I can with a scorned pride…”

  “Don’t you mean bruised ego?” Lizzie interjected.

  “Oh, great, now even Lizzie’s a critic.” Shaking my head in disbelief, I continued, “Anyway—I thought about the beautiful music that still echoed in my ears and I was left feeling only one thing—sad.”

  Cars continued to pass us, but I barely registered them as I thought about Hawkins in the elevator with his dark, tousled hair.

  “I guess what they say is true,” I exhaled, “blondes must have more fun.”

  “Oh.” Lizzie whimpered like a puppy dog. “Wait a minute, when did you start to care about Hawkins?”

  “I was just improvising, Lizzie,” I said dismissively. “Riley’s not going to keep that part of the story.”

  I looked over at Riley who continued to type beside me. “You’re going to delete those last couple of sentences, right?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He looked up. “I just got carried away.”

  He glanced up at the overhead highway sign, that we quickly passed, and asked, “Wasn’t that our exit?”

  “Oh, crap!” I looked in the rearview mirror as we pulled away from the back of the large, green exit sign. “Check the directions.”

  Riley tossed his laptop to the ground so he could focus on the directions. “No, we’re good, but it’s coming up. At least I think it is, 300, no?” He turned the paper to the side so he could examine it more closely. “290?”

  “Give it to me.” I grabbed the paper out of his hands and looked down at the directions. I noticed that J.T. Hawkins’ signature was clear across the page. The dark scribbling had made it virtually impossible to see the exit number. We had been driving for five hours now. My stomach was growling since my “lunch” only consisted of a few peanut butter crackers, a couple of Twizzlers, and a swig of Mountain Dew. All I wanted to know was the exit number, but no, J.T. Hawkins chose Riley. I slapped the papers across Riley’s chest since they were useless to me now.

  “I’ll look it up on the computer,” Riley said, but I stopped him.

  “It’s too late now,” I mumbled.

  I picked the exit based on the tried and true method of elimination: Eeny Meeny Miny Moe. I veered off the highway at exit 300, while I ignored the huge sign that read “Wrong Exit, Joie!” But I was too tired to notice until I discovered that we had merged onto I-66, another main highway headed straight for Washington, D.C., not Charlottesville, Virginia.

  “Oh, shit,” Riley murmured.

  I was filled with a few choice words for Hawkins, but I bit my tongue knowing that no one wanted to hear it. Through my rearview mirror I realized that Lizzie was lying down again. She was already listening to the music on her iPod; once again unaware of anyone else’s stress but her own. Riley, my copilot, on the other hand looked frantically over the maps from Triple A. Glancing up to read the signs intermittently, he instructed, “Okay, you want to merge to the right and then take the next exit. It should loop around so that we can go the other way.”

  “You’re a saint,” I said with relief as we smiled at each other for a quick second. I hit my right turn signal, veered off to the side, and swung around again. We were back on I-81 in no time. After an hour, we reached I-65 heading toward Charlottesville, Virginia, where our next concert awaited us. We pulled off the exit and drove in the direction of the nearest Walmart parking lot.

  “Home sweet home,” I sang while cutting off the engine in front of the expansive store. Riley and I high fived each for having made it out of a tight fix together. Lizzie pulled out her white earphones and groaned from the back, “Wh
ere are we?”

  “BFE, sweetheart,” I said under my breath, “BFE.”

  We relished the feeling of being somewhere planned for a moment until I said, “Okay, first I have to do money detail.” It was comforting to know that I was the one responsible for the money. As much as I hated to be in charge of the others, I hated to rely on someone else even more. Reaching under my seat, I grabbed the stack of money that my father had left behind for me in his will. I got out my calculator and stuck a pen in the back of my pony tail. Trying not to think about my dad, I counted out the money for this part of the trip.

  I worked out the necessities and murmured, “Gas, food, place to sleep.”

  Glancing around at the parking lot, I said, “Check.”

  Although I knew that I had just enough money to cover the span of forty-four tour dates, I still wanted to cut corners whenever we could, like sleeping in the van, just in case something went terribly wrong and we needed a backup plan. I noticed as I counted out the money that it only took a few seconds for the hot, humid summer air that surrounded the van to seep inside.

  “God, we’re going to roast in here,” Riley said as he peeled his shirt off and dabbed his face. He looked like a beast with his well-defined, tanned pecks and tight abdomen. His eyebrows furrowed together over his light brown eyes when he asked, “Joie, are you staring at me once again?”

  “Whatever, it plays tricks on my mind, okay? Mr. Abercrombie model,” I muttered as I looked away. “Why don’t you try keeping your shirt on like everyone else.”

  He softly chuckled as he pulled his infamous white V-neck shirt back over his head. He ran both his hands through his hair to slick it back off his face before biting his short nails out of habit. He arched an eyebrow in my direction, but didn’t look over at me. “Kind of freaking me out, Joie.”

  “Right.” I turned my head away again.

  “Perfectly good waste of a shower.” Lizzie tossed the sheet off herself with exasperation and huffed, “I should have gotten a ride with Ryan in his tour bus.”

  “But you hooked up with Warren last night,” Riley reminded her.